


silver lining

by preromantics



Category: Glee
Genre: Kinks, M/M, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-30
Updated: 2010-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-14 06:10:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/preromantics/pseuds/preromantics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sex Pollen and first!time fic. <i>I didn’t invite you just to get a tan and admire the view,” Blaine says. He turns back towards the pool for a second, though, looking out at everyone -- currently racing from one end to the next, splashing water over the tiles around the pool, and then back to Kurt with an even wider grin. “Not that I blame you.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	silver lining

**Author's Note:**

> Advent fic, originally posted 12/07/2010. Warnings: sex pollen fic, as in most cases, may walk a consent line. Rimming, double first time (... somehow), porn. :)

Kurt almost, almost falls asleep, despite the noise and splashing around him and the music coming through a rock speaker somewhere right behind him, and the sun in his face that is almost too bright behind his sunglasses. He very nearly falls all the way asleep, except the light changes just as he’s settling back into the plastic chaise on the deck and about to drop off, and something -- someone -- is blocking his light.

When Kurt blinks open his eyes, Blaine is standing above him, hair dripping down his forehead and water dripping down his chest, grinning wide. “You’re not laying there all afternoon,” he says, bending down closer, dripping onto Kurt’s thin t-shirt.

Kurt makes a noise, mostly sun-tired, and completely unwilling to get up and join the gigantic, splashing group of Dalton boys in the pool.

“I didn’t invite you just to get a tan and admire the view,” Blaine says. He turns back towards the pool for a second, though, looking out at everyone -- currently racing from one end to the next, splashing water over the tiles around the pool, and then back to Kurt with an even wider grin. “Not that I blame you.”

Kurt raises an arm languidly to swat at Blaine, and his hand comes back just a little bit damp from Blaine’s forearm.

“Come on,” Blaine encourages, “I want to see what you look like with your hair all wet and messed up.”

Kurt rolls his eyes, “Nowhere near as good as you,” he says, and almost blanches the second after -- he didn’t mean to be so honest, despite how ridiculously good Blaine looks all wet and with his hair sort of sloppily falling against his face instead of styled up and back.

Blaine’s nose scrunches up for a second and then he laughs, extending a hand for Kurt to grab and pull himself up to stand. “Whatever you say,” Blaine says, keeping his grip on Kurt’s hand even after Kurt has -- reluctantly -- stood up all the way.

Someone calls out Blaine’s name from the pool, followed by a splash of water over all the way to the deck where he’s standing with Kurt that barely manages to spray them both. “If you’re not in the water in a minute,” Blaine says, “I’m taking you in, shirt and shoes and all.”

He lets go of Kurt’s hand after a light squeeze, and Kurt curls his fingers together reflexively, missing the weight while he watches Blaine half-run across the deck to jump in the deep end of the pool near the basketball hoop most the guys are hanging around.

Kurt takes a deep breath -- he can totally go in the water and not mind if his hair gets wet and everyone splashes, because no one is going to say anything stupid or make fun of him, and he’ll probably have a good time. It’s different, here.

He slides his shirt, damp, off his shoulders and turns to find somewhere to put it, spotting a chair at the very far end of the deck next to a potted plant -- some sort of climbing roses, a brilliant yellow color with tiny, spiky leaves curled around a few inches of lattice. He ducks into smell them after he sets his towel and shirt on the chair. They smell sweet and heavy, somewhat like how Blaine smells, whatever cologne he wears and the fresh shower smell that seems to be embedded in his skin, the cotton and bleach laundry smell in his uniform every day.

“Fifteen seconds,” Blaine calls, the end getting cut off abruptly, like someone probably ducked Blaine’s head under the water, and a second later Kurt can hear the sound of a bout of gurgling laughter.

Kurt turns away from the roses after another inhale; he’ll have to ask the name of them later, get some for the garden he and Carole have been planning for the new backyard.

“Coming,” he calls back, and a few people laugh, and someone calls out, “Married!” but not in a way that hurts, just makes Kurt laugh back, because he and Blaine -- they aren’t even anything, really, they just do a lot together and sometimes watch movies together in the dark in Blaine’s room, Kurt tucked into his side under the blankets because Blaine keeps his room cold and -- god, Kurt would love if it included making-out and unbuttoning all of the buttons on Blaine’s uniform shirt that just happens to look better on him than anyone else. Except they don’t do that, and Kurt is fine with that, because he likes what they have and --

“I’m seriously getting out and dragging you in by your cherub cheeks,” Blaine calls from the pool, and Kurt rolls his eyes and starts the walk across the deck, out to the pool where everyone is gathered.

“Which pair of cheeks?” someone asks, and everyone laughs for long enough that Kurt slips in the side of the pool without incident, the water cooler than he expects on his skin, hot -- almost too hot -- probably from the sun.

  
\--

  
It only takes about five minutes in the water for Kurt to start to feel -- wrong. His skin feels tight, the water that laps up against the back of his neck prickles and whenever someone in the pool brushes up against him he jumps back, almost like he’s been burned. His head starts to hurt as he blinks around, unfocused, freezing up when someone throws the basketball they’d all been tossing around toward him.

Blaine comes up behind him after that, setting a hand along his waist from behind, and Kurt lurches away.

“Don’t,” he says, almost frantically.

“Hey, hey,” Blaine says, swimming closer but not reaching out, “you okay?”

It takes Kurt a second to answer; his skin is warming rapidly in the water, heat spreading out from where Blaine’s hand had been curled seconds before. “No,” he says, “no I’m --”

Blaine grabs him around the waist again, but this time Kurt doesn’t feel the need to jump away. Instead, his body warms even further, little bursts of heat under Blaine’s fingertips, almost too much as Blaine drags him towards the stairs and out of the pool, calling out something before they step through sliding glass doors into the cool interior of the house.

Kurt is vaguely aware of Blaine saying his name, after a few seconds of standing in his arms, and he turns in Blaine’s grasp to look at him. “Blaine,” he says, because it seems to be the only word that wants to come out of his mouth.

“Are you okay?” Blaine asks, again, looking at him critically. He shifts his arm up to Kurt’s shoulder and squeezes, just barely, and -- it just feels so good, everywhere Blaine is touching, where the bare skin of Blaine’s hip is against his own, slick with water in between --

“Blaine,” Kurt repeats, instead of giving a response, urgent and sort of stuck in his throat.

“Hey, hey,” Blaine says, squeezing again, pressing Kurt a little away from him, “you should lay down. Lets get you on a bed or -- something.”

He looks worried, Kurt can see that, but he groans when Blaine leans away, losing skin contact, and his skin tightens and burns and -- something -- in all the places he’s not being touched.

"Come on," Blaine says, and Kurt feels the motion of being pulled forward only distantly. What he feels most is where Blaine's hand has curled around his own to lead him, the fingers hot against his knuckles, all the way up his arm. 

It's irrational, really, but he can't help it, Kurt's body moving before his mind has the chance to catch up, walking along with Blaine until he's pressed up against the cool skin of his back, so much cooler than the skin on Kurt's chest that it's almost like walking into ice, but his body caves forward with it, a little, twisting until he's pressed all the way along Blaine's spine, resting his cheek against Blaine's shoulder. 

"Kurt," Blaine says, and then more urgently, turning in Kurt's grasp to look at his face. He looks worried, still, though Kurt's eyes feel blurry and strange, trying to look at the expression on Blaine's face but instead only focusing on the little dry ridges of his lips, the points of his eyelashes, stuck together from the chlorine of the pool, blinking. 

"God, you -- you have a fever, I think," Blaine says, reaching up with a hand and pressing his palm against Kurt's forehead. Kurt groans -- hears himself groan sort of distantly, a little too high -- and leans into the touch because it feels so, so good and right and his chest is tight with the feeling, the need to get closer and closer. 

Blaine walks backwards while Kurt stays as close as he can, not paying attention at all to the way his feet are moving or walking, just to the points where he's in contact with Blaine, where little sparks of heat are thrumming under his skin. 

"Here," Blaine says, opening the door to his room. It's a familiar room, one Kurt has spent more than a few days in, even a few nights -- their record marathon of every movie Judy Garland had a role in lasted more than one day, and they refused to sleep or leave the room until they ended up finally passing out in a tangled mass of limbs that Kurt was very, very reluctant to untwist himself from. 

Kurt follows him to the bed, where he sits, but Blaine turns to walk away, and Kurt reaches out for him, has to, can't help it. "No," he says, chest tight and the word coming out on a gasp. 

"I'm going to go call someone, or get help, or --" Blaine starts, and this time whatever rational part of Kurt's brain that's still working focuses in on the worry and mild panic all over Blaine's face. 

"I'm not --" Kurt tries, but Blaine is halfway across the room and the waistband of Kurt's swim trunks is digging painfully into his skin and everything, every cell and nerve ending in his body is just pushing and pulling and  _something_  and Kurt hasn't felt this way before and yet, equally, he almost knows exactly what he needs. He needs Blaine's hands, again, on his skin, all of Blaine on his skin, to make the feeling go away, to cool him off. It's almost like desperation, and not the sort of desperation Kurt feels moments before he comes in the shower, leaning back against the porcelain tiles to finish himself off; that's a gritty, needful sort of desperation too, his eyes squeezed tightly shut so he can visualize the last moments of someone -- Blaine -- kneeling on the shower floor in front of him, or whatever he's thinking about, and get rid of the racing, tight feeling spread out from the tips of his fingers to his teeth, just --

It's not that, it's more, it's want and need and Kurt can barely keep his eyes open with it, struggling with taking even breaths where he's sitting on the bed. It's not normal, not right, and not at all what he wants to be happening -- not like this, not right now, but. Kurt opens his eyes all the way, taking in the way Blaine is standing in front of him, hovering near the door and dresser, watching him tensely and worried and  _caring_ , and Kurt knows if he looks half as wrecked as he feels he must look horrible. 

"Blaine," Kurt says, again, because it's still the only word that will come easily out of his throat, "please -- don't go out, don't, I don't --"

Blaine steps forward at that, Kurt tracking the motion, the fluidity in his steps forward, the way his chest is dry and no longer slick with water, and how Kurt just wants to, needs to see it slick again with sweat and more. 

"Please," Kurt says, when Blaine is close enough to touch, almost afraid to reach out.

Blaine kneels in front of the bed, right at Kurt's knee. "What?" he asks, eyes searching, "what can I do -- you --"

Kurt reaches out, fingers curling around Blaine's neck harder than he means them to in order to drag him up towards the bed, and it's not anywhere near how the same situation has been played out in his head countless times in the past few months, nothing at all like visualizing kisses stolen in the back of a playhouse or over the gear stick in a car with spring rain falling on the windows. 

Kurt drags Blaine up by his neck until he can bend down enough to meet his face, rolling forward and pitching off the bed, both of them on the floor before Kurt even realizes he's falling, barely registering anything but the way he can almost feel each strand of Blaine's hair on his fingertips and where his hips are settled heavily, almost painfully on top of Blaine's own. He does register, though, the wide-eyed look Blaine gives him right before Kurt crashes their mouths together with no semblance of elegance or thoroughness, just pressure and slick, slick wetness, his tongue darting out because it feels  _good_ , and it makes his spine arch up a little, his hips pressing down in tandem.

"You're not okay," Blaine says tightly, while Kurt drags his mouth down the side of Blaine's jaw because the skin there feels good, the tiniest hint of stubble dragging over his lips. 

"No," Kurt agrees, wanting desperately -- and that's what this feeling is, desperation, want -- for Blaine to touch him, to run his hands down his back. 

"God, Kurt," Blaine says, his head bending back when Kurt rotates his hips, once, twice, and then again with more pressure because he can feel it all the way up his spine, tight and hot and good and he can't stop moving, pressing down and dragging his body down to Blaine's chest, his lips following.

Kurt can hear the noises he's making almost as if he isn't making them, and he still can't find the right way to breathe, air coming in and out in little gasps. "Please," he says, "I can't --" and nothing makes sense, nothing at all, except for how he needs to be touched and how he needs Blaine to not be pulling away. 

"I need you," Kurt says, low, not even thinking the words, just hearing them come out, and it's true -- it's always been true, he's always sort of needed Blaine to figure this all out between them, to get them moving forward, just not like this, this isn't -- it's what he needs now, and has needed, just differently and --

"Kurt," Blaine says, dragging it out, almost pained. "Not like this, come on, you're not --" 

Kurt's forehead is sticky with sweat, though he doesn't know how or when he started sweating. He only notices when he drags his forehead across the expanse of Blaine's bare stomach, resting it there, frustrated and hot and not being touched, and it's awful. "I want this," he says, mouthing the words against the edge of Blaine's hip, the curve of the bone there that Kurt knows with his eyes closed, just from the glimpses he's been given before. The words don't come out right, and his mouth is dry with the heat of everything else. "So long," he says, "you -- you're always there and, I don't know what this is just -- want."

Kurt leans so he can bend his neck up to see Blaine's face, squinting to narrow his focus down, trying to see past whatever sort of haze is fogging up his head and his vision, trying to pinpoint it all just to the little beads of moisture clinging to the dip of Blaine's collarbone, the dark red of his bottom lip where Kurt had pressed his teeth in. 

Blaine is looking down at him, shaking his head, just a little. "You have to know that --" he starts, frowning, moving backwards to lean up on his elbows, shifting so Kurt has to roll off his stomach, going up on his knees and then leaning back over Blaine so their faces are level. "This isn't how I want this to happen," Blaine says. "Come on, Kurt, you --"

"Please," Kurt says, again, wishing he had a better way to say it, his muscles clenching just a little, straining forward. "We'll talk after, just -- now, Blaine, come on just touch --"

Blaine bites into his own bottom lip and Kurt watches as the skin dents in and reddens even more under the pressure of his teeth, but he waits despite the shaking strain in his arms, the heat of where his thighs are barely touching Blaine's nothing near what his body is demanding. Blaine reaches up after a second, cupping his palm against Kurt's cheek and dragging his fingers up along the side of his face.

"You're so pale," Blaine says, softly this time, "and hot. I don't understand."

"I just --" Kurt says, and he can't think enough to even talk, his mouth drier by the second, leaning heavily into Blaine's hand. "You, now -- please."

He's beyond recognition of what his voice must sound like, rough and dry and low, but Blaine closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them curling his fingers around to the back of Kurt's head and pressing, enough of a signal for Kurt to press back down all the way, groaning high with the feeling of their chests pressing together, of Blaine's lips on his own, this time working with Kurt, not against him. 

"Don't," Kurt grits out, when Blaine goes to roll away just as he starts to press a hand between them, determined to feel more of their skin together, to feel more all over.

"Bed," Blaine says, "I'm not -- this isn't the time or place, but we're at least going to have a bed."

Normally, Kurt would laugh at that, at Blaine's instance and his planning, but the sound gets stuck in his throat, watching the way Blaine's muscles shift and move as he goes to stand, extending a hand out to Kurt on the floor.

Kurt's balance is off, he can tell, because he mostly falls forward into Blaine's chest, spreading his hands out against Blaine's back to press his fingertips in. Blaine turns them around, presses Kurt back until his thighs hit the edge of the mattress and he lets himself fall, back bending impossibly low until the sheets come up to meet his skin.

Kurt gets his hands along Blaine's ribs while Blaine hovers over top of him, dragging them down to the waistband of Blaine's swim trunks, dipping his thumbs in and then hooking the rest of his fingers to drag them down. He focuses in on the red indents pressed out across Blaine's hips and sides, the parts where the elastic was digging in a little, and he groans, leaning up as he gets the shorts down over Blaine's ass to press his mouth against the indents, scraping his teeth over Blaine's hipbone. 

Blaine makes a noise, at that, and it thrums up through Kurt almost painfully, makes him swoop forward, yes, yes, pressing Blaine down backwards on the bed. 

"No," Blaine says, gritty in a way that barely matches how Kurt feels but makes a point, anyway. He presses back up and over Kurt so they are kneeling against each other for a suspended second before Blaine presses him back down the other way. 

Blaine gets his shorts all the way off, catching them on his knees and then sliding them over his ankles, and Kurt doesn't know where to look -- at the marks on Blaine's hips, still, or at his cock, pressed against his stomach, hard, or at his face, just to see what it must look like. 

Kurt's toes curl, a little, the itch under his skin growing and spreading and curling itself up like a weight in his chest, more pressure, more everything and Kurt has to close his eyes against it. He doesn't open them when he feels Blaine's fingers on his stomach, trailing down the waistband of his own swim trunks to slide them down. Kurt hisses through his teeth, eyes shooting open before he can resist, when the band scrapes over his own dick, adding unforgiving heat. 

It doesn't even feel the same as usual to be hard, not really, just another extension of the heat flying from nerve ending to nerve ending under his skin. It seems almost pinpointed there, though, when Blaine wraps his hand around, leaning down to drag his lips, finally, against Kurt's neck. 

"Kurt," Blaine says, "just -- say something."

Kurt can't figure out words at all, really. He can only arch his back so his hips move further into Blaine's hand around his dick, hot and slick, his palm wet with Kurt's precome, making his motions fluid and god, of course, rhythmic. He moans out, though, when he can't get any words out, leaning his head to catch the side of Blaine's jaw as he moves upwards, kissing him there with more tenderness than his body feels at all, just sort of resting his lips there and rotating his hips up for a few seconds. 

Blaine sucks in a breath near Kurt's ear when Kurt reaches down to wrap his own hand around Blaine's cock. Blaine's hand feels overwhelming on his own, fisted around, and Kurt does his best to match Blaine's rhythm, shifting his hips until they are settled right under Blaine's own. 

His body wants more, something, somehow -- he can feel it under his skin still, and can feel it throbbing under his eyes, but he bites down on his own lip when Blaine's hand speeds up in time with Kurt's own, pulling himself down the mattress so he can get at Blaine's shoulder, panting out his breaths against the skin there. He twists his own hand along Blaine's dick, the feeling against his own palm running itself up Kurt's arm and spreading down his chest, good, so good, and he wants to do it properly, wants to  _see_  and taste, oh -- 

Kurt twists urgently and away from underneath Blaine, taking his hand away and shifting up, grateful when Blaine follow his motions, rolling over when Kurt presses against his side, only to slide quickly and inelegantly down between Blaine's legs. 

"Kurt," Blaine starts, and it sounds vaguely like a warning, sort of strangled and faded at the end, almost like Blaine understands how Kurt feels, though Kurt knows instinctively that he doesn't, can't feel the same way right now. Kurt's thighs are shaking from being tense, needing to be pressed up against Blaine again, his body straining with the undercurrent of -- of whatever -- still running all over his body. Except he part of Kurt's brain that is, not working, really, but processing better than the rest knows he wants this more, though, more than being touched himself. 

He wants Blaine in his mouth, wants to be able to look up at him and see his face, his mouth twisted desperately open in some semblance of the way Kurt feels inside. He wants to feel the heat and taste the salt, there, to really feel and taste outside of his behind closed eyelid thoughts, alone in his bed in the dark. 

Blaine groans when Kurt closes his lips over the head of his dick, barely pressing his hips up before settling them down into the mattress in what seems like self-restraint, though Kurt is barely paying attention, groaning up through his throat around where his lips are stretched. He wraps his hand around, too, mouth moving easily slick and wet, sparks of something, need want anything, running down his spine each time Blaine makes a noise, Kurt's own back arching up when Blaine grits out his name. 

Kurt looks up to watch Blaine, the way his neck tips back each time he lets out a noise, when Kurt drags his mouth lower, keeping his tongue pressed up with as much pressure as he can, pulling back up but not all the way off. Blaine looks up all the way each time his neck snaps back, forcing his head back up to look at Kurt between his legs, the image something Kurt can barely focus on, what he must look like. 

Blaine comes unexpectedly, his hips pressing up sharply on a near soundless inhale of breath, one his hands coming down to twist in Kurt's hair, not pressing him down or holding him anywhere, but digging into his scalp as Kurt groans, the muscles in his arms shaking along with his thighs, swallowing around Blaine's dick messily. 

"Fuck," Blaine groans, not letting go of Kurt's head but twisting his hips away, sitting up and making Kurt kneel back with the motion until their chests are nearly together, Blaine bending down to kiss him, sloppy and wet and -- dirty, not anything that Kurt had really focused on before, even when they'd been on the floor and Kurt felt like his skin was doing to melt off if he couldn't drag his lips across Blaine's own. 

Blaine wraps his hand around Kurt's dick, hard and leaking against his stomach, and Kurt's eyes roll back, gasping out a breath caught in his throat, the pressure in his chest racing down his back and thighs, expanding until Kurt has to bend his spine against it all, his mouth slipping from Blaine's so he can rest his forehead at the juncture of Blaine's shoulder and neck. Kurt mouths out the little sounds he tries to make against the skin there, coming out in gasps and bursts of breath, groaning intermittently as his skin starts to feel tighter and tighter.

"You have no idea," Blaine says, almost into the top of Kurt's head, squeezing his hand almost deliciously tight over Kurt's dick, twisting on every upstroke, "how long I've -- I've been waiting for this, not like this at all, but, god, Kurt."

Kurt can barely make sense of his words, hot, hotter still, all over, sweating down his back in a way he never does, mouthing nothing, everything, nonsense into Blaine's neck before his spine snaps back and his hips press forward, Blaine's thumb swiping over the very head of his dick, Kurt coming on the upstroke, feeling strung impossibly tight and then loose -- his whole body relaxing as he groans on a deep inhale of breath. 

"Blaine," he says, melting down into Blaine's chest, his thighs very nearly giving out their kneeling position before Blaine maneuvers him back down on the mattress, right against his chest. Blaine's name keeps coming out his mouth, urgent and quiet on each normal breath of air he inhales greedily, his orgasm still rolling in waves down his spine, impossibly cool and sharp as the heat and tightness on his skin begins to fade away. 

Blaine turns Kurt's face up so he can look down at him. "Are you -- fuck, Kurt. Are you better? I --"

Kurt still feels unfocused, still strange in his own skin, but he doesn't feel the same way. Instead, he feels completely worn out, like he'd slip right through the mattress if Blaine wasn't right under him. "I'm better," he manages, knowing it's true as soon as he says it. He looks away from Blaine after he says it, too, biting hard against his own bottom lip.

"You  _scared_  me," Blaine says, rubbing absent circles into the lower part of Kurt's back, warm and comforting. 

Kurt looks back up at him, feeling -- feeling too many things at once, the awful weight against his chest from before gone but replaced with something else, scratchy and full. "I'm sorry," he says, very nearly blurting it out, because he is and he didn't mean for it go like that at all, and he Blaine didn't want to -- oh, he -- "You didn't even want too -- I didn't --"

Blaine shakes his head as soon as Kurt starts speaking, shushing him. "I don't know what that was," Blaine says, "but whatever you or it or whatever just happened, don't apologize."

Kurt looks down again, the settling feeling on his skin feeling almost like an itch. 

"Kurt," Blaine says, low and soft, "you weren't yourself just then, I just knew -- stupidly, maybe, but I did -- that you needed me just then." 

Kurt breathes out against Blaine's chest, one long exhale. "That's not how I wanted that to go at all," he says, after a few seconds. "I don't know what happened."

"What did happen?" Blaine asks, though not directly at Kurt. 

"All I remember is getting in the pool," Kurt says, soft, thinking about it, closing his eyes against the way his skin starts to warm and heat where Blaine's hand is moving against his back, willing the same feeling as before not to come back again. "I got so cold, and the water felt like it was stinging against my skin, but then you touched me and everything was hot."

He sounds ridiculous saying it out loud, though he only realizes belatedly. 

"You looked like you were going to faint," Blaine says. 

Kurt shifts against him, almost unthinkingly trying to get away from his hand, the warmth of it, the way it's making his hips want to roll forward lazily into Blaine's thigh, even past all his tiredness. It's not the same feeling as before, though, not the tense, horrible tight feeling spreading out from his spine. Just warm with a sort of lazy arousal, like waking up just a little hard in the morning after a good, fuzzy sort of dream. 

Blaine moves his hand up, almost like he can sense Kurt's discomfort -- not discomfort, really, just, something -- but he brings it up to the back of Kurt's head, just resting his fingers in the soft hair at the nape of his neck instead. 

"I should go out and tell everyone you're okay," Blaine says, after a few moments of silence. 

Kurt feels even more tired than he did before, closing his eyes against the motion of Blaine's fingers moving lightly through his hair. 

"Where are your clothes?" Blaine asks, shifting, allowing Kurt to roll to the side so Blaine can get up. 

"Far corner of the deck," Kurt says, the corner of his mouth twisting into a smile for a moment when he feels the sheet being pulled up over him. "By those really nice roses."

"Roses?" Blaine repeats, and Kurt opens his eyes -- he hadn't even realized they were shut, his body relaxing so much back into the mattress -- watching Blaine's face change suddenly. 

"What?" Kurt asks, vaguely hoping the word comes out as more than a questioning noise.

"My aunt," Blaine says, somewhat thoughtfully, "she -- she breeds special roses."

"Special?" Kurt asks. 

"She's sort of crazy," Blaine says, bending to pick up his swim trunks -- Kurt keeps his eyes cracked open despite their heaviness to admire the view, since he can, now -- "she sent us them last week with this long letter about how no one should -- shit."

Kurt knows his attempt to ask,  _what_ , doesn't come out as a word this time, barely keeping his eyes open long enough to watch Blaine rush out the door to his room, still sliding his trunks up along his hips. 

  
\--

  
Kurt isn't sure how long Blaine is gone, though he knows he didn't mean to actually fall asleep. He wakes up when he feels the mattress shift, though, blinking open his eyes to find the room quite a bit darker, Blaine looking down over him. 

"Hey there," Blaine says, quietly. "I didn't mean to wake you." 

Kurt blinks his eyes rapidly, trying to adjust to the light. 

"Crisis averted," Blaine says, though it doesn't make much sense to Kurt. His face must show it because Blaine laughs, low. "I thought for a moment -- those weird flowers, I think, caused you to --" he gestures with his hands and Kurt laughs softly then, can't help it, turning his face into the pillow. "I sort of ran back out to the pool with all these visions of some sort of massive orgy on the deck, if the guys had gone over to the roses, too."

Kurt makes a noise of displeasure at the though, turning his head away from the pillow. He thinks about it for a second, though, staring up at Blaine. Blaine laughs first, "Okay, so it's not so much a gross mental image as a --"

"Not so bad one at all," Kurt offers, laughing a little, his jaw tired and tight. 

Blaine pokes at his shoulder under the sheet, "I bet we'd win even Nationals if we slipped some video of a Warbler's poolside orgy to the judges," he says, laughing again. 

"Oh, god," Kurt says, "now I'm having bad mental images."

Blaine makes a face at him, sitting more fully on the mattress. "Anyway," he says, "there wasn't an orgy when I went out."

"Were you disappointed?" Kurt asks, failing at the deadpan tone he meant to try for.

At that, Blaine rolls his eyes. "I just got a lot of wolf-whistles," he says. Kurt ducks back into the pillow, a little. "I told them you were sick and everyone should go home, though. Then I came back here and let you sleep."

"Thanks," Kurt says, after a second. 

Blaine nods, once, noticeably sitting up a little straighter. 

Kurt leans up slowly, shifting until he's sitting up all the way, the sheet pooled down to his waist -- he's naked underneath, he knows, but it doesn't bother him as much as it should. "Blaine," he says, slowly, "we should -- we could talk about it." 

Blaine shrugs, this time turned away, a little. "We don't have to," he says, slowly, "I mean, it wasn't your fault, you weren't yourself." He sounds sort of detached about it, just a little, and it takes Kurt a moment to catch on. 

"Oh," Kurt says, feeling much less tired, "I -- wasn't myself, that's true." He pauses for a second, trying to figure out how to say what he wants to, what he's _wanted_  to say for so long now. 

"I wanted that, though," he says, after he thinks about his phrasing. "Not like that, necessarily, but -- you have to had known I was --"

"Waiting?" Blaine finishes, somewhat hesitantly, more than Kurt expected. 

Kurt nods, easy. "For months," he adds, for good measure. 

Blaine's shoulder's relax noticeably. "Months," he repeats, "yeah. That's familiar."

"If you say you were trying to be a gentleman about it --" Kurt starts, the warmth from his nap spreading out, lingering along his fingertips. 

Blaine turns all the way towards him and laughs, for just a second. "I was, actually. If you must know." 

Kurt makes a face at him, his mouth twisted up, and they look at each other for longer than Kurt thinks is really necessary. 

"I'm sorry it was like that," Blaine says, after a moment.

"Don't be," Kurt says, automatic, almost sharply. "You could -- make it up me. Us." He adds as an afterthought, not wanting to push his luck, just --

"Make it up to you?" Blaine repeats, slowly, the sides of his mouth turning up to a grin, growing wider as he looks across at Kurt. 

Kurt rolls his fingers against the sheets at his waist, definitely no longer tired. Instead he feels -- appropriately, not feverishly and desperately -- excited, just a little, the tiniest bit of  _yes, want_  pushing up and settling at the base of his spine. 

"Like," Blaine says, when Kurt doesn't offer any suggestions, crawling forward across the bed, "we could just try again. I could lay you out right like I've thought about doing for way longer than I'll ever admit and we could go from there?"

Kurt means to have an answer, really, but he's distracted by the roll of Blaine's tongue against his bottom lip, leaving it slick and wet, and by a fraying thread on the neck of Blaine's shirt -- which he must have put on while Kurt was sleeping, a choice Kurt doesn't really approve of at all. 

"Something like that," Kurt says, though, because Blaine looks like he expects Kurt to say something at least, his words coming out low and softer than he means. 

"I don't know," Blaine says, rolling back his shoulders and looking away, presumably to stop Kurt from seeing him grin stupidly, "I mean -- it's pretty late now, and I'm actually pretty tired, and --"

"Shut up," Kurt says, leaning forward and reaching out to drag Blaine closer, this time taking time to curl the little longer strands at the back of his head around his fingers and use his other hand to fit his palm against Blaine's jaw, bringing their mouths together slowly and almost too carefully. Doing it right, like the numerous (countless) times he'd thought about doing it before. 

He can feel Blaine's grin against his mouth even with his eyes shut, and it makes him grin too because, yes -- this,  _this_  is what Kurt has been wanting, waiting for.

The first swipe of Blaine's tongue against his bottom lip makes him shiver the tiniest bit, the warmth from waking up leaving his skin too-fast, replaced with cool air against his skin everywhere Blaine isn't touching -- almost like the sensation of before, when he'd been so gone from himself, but also so much better, just low need curled in his belly. Blaine bends him back while he kisses him, Kurt pliant under his unyielding hands; running down his sides and along his back and tugging the sheet draped against this waist down and out of the way.

"Hi," Blaine says, right up against his lips after he's gotten Kurt laid out underneath him without any protests on Kurt's part. 

"Hi," Kurt says back, grinning softly up at Blaine. He stretches languidly back into the mattress, Blaine straddling one of his thighs. "You have far too many clothes on."

"Do I?" Blaine asks, looking down at himself, the warmth of his steady breaths leaving Kurt's face as he leans up to thumb the hem of his shirt. 

"You do," Kurt says, reaching and tugging Blaine shirt off, hiking it up as far as he can, up enough to thumb over Blaine's nipples while Blaine takes over, pulling the rest of his shirt off over his head and arching his back gently under Kurt's hands, making a low noise at the back of his throat.

"You still have too many clothes on," Kurt says, enjoying being able to run his hands down Blaine's sides, enjoying the way it makes Blaine rock forward a little on Kurt's thigh, his knee tucked between Kurt's and rocking, too. 

"I think I can fix that," Blaine says, after a second of having his eyes closed. He wiggles his fingers in front of Kurt's face for a second, and Kurt raises an eyebrow at him.

"I don't know what that was," Blaine says, looking at his own hands. "Magic fingers or something."

Kurt laughs, mostly a few breaths through his nose, at that because that -- this -- this is more like what Kurt imagined between them than anything, Blaine grinning into his neck, laughing together, maybe fumbling, a little. God, he's wanted this. 

"Take your pants off," Kurt says. 

"Bossy," Blaine says, but he rolls to the side for a second to comply, tossing his swim trunks across onto the floor. "I'll fold them later," he says.

"If you're thinking about folding right now, we have a problem," Kurt says, right as Blaine rolls back over on top of him, leaning down to kiss him, slick and brief. 

Blaine drags his eyes down the length of Kurt's body in a way that almost makes Kurt want to roll his face back into the pillow, groaning. 

"I'm not thinking about folding at  _all_ ," Blaine says, grinning down at him. 

"Good," Kurt says, not really surprised to barely be able to get the word out, a little breathless with lots of things, want, anticipation, with the way Blaine is still looking at him, like he's has something that could possibly be worth staring at for that long. 

"You're --" Blaine starts, groaning instead of finishing his sentence, "I -- shit."

Blaine shifts down Kurt's chest, ending up back between Kurt's legs, hooking his hands under Kurt's knees and pressing his legs apart just slightly. 

"Can I?" Blaine asks.

He looks as though he might finish the thought, might ask Kurt for something specific, but Kurt nods his head. "Anything," he says, honestly.

"I'm holding you do that," Blaine says, voice low, before he ducks down, spreading Kurt's legs a little wider still, bending his knees up. Kurt honestly thinks he's going for his dick, hard already, the tiniest bit of slickness beaded at the top, and Blaine does linger there, just sort of looking, tongue darting out to lick at his bottom lip again in a way that makes Kurt hold back an embarrassing noise in his throat.

Blaine, though, ducks down further, taking his hands off Kurt's knees and moving to cup his ass, pulling him up and closer, spreading him just slightly while Kurt sucks in a breath, not even managing an intelligible sound when Blaine leans down all the way and  _licks_  with a barely-there swipe of his tongue. "Okay?" Blaine asks, the feeling of just his breath making Kurt roll his head back into the pillow under it, blinking wide-eyed up at the ceiling. 

He groans a little, low, willing Blaine to dart in again, and Blaine laughs -- again, low and warm -- and then Kurt can feel the flat of his tongue taking a long swipe up and around, oh. Blaine spreads him wider, gradually, bending his neck at an impossible looking angle when Kurt manages to look down before flopping his head back again, a little overwhelmed, rolling his hips just slightly towards Blaine's mouth with increasing urgency, just getting a rhythm as Blaine's tongue starts to slide slicker and slicker before he pulls away.

"I have lube," Blaine says, sitting up, away from where Kurt really, really wants him to be. "I don't know if --"

"Yes," Kurt says, cutting Blaine off in an almost automatic way, leaning up on his elbows so he can look right at Blaine, "yes." 

"We can wait," Blaine says, more softly, his lips red and slick and full, so much that Kurt can barely keep focusing on him without wanting to groan low in his throat. 

"I --" Kurt starts -- he wants Blaine to know it's not just, desperation, it's not him from before at all, even though that was great, it's -- this is different. Kurt  _wants_ this, too. "I want to," he says, simply. "If you do."

Blaine's eyes widen, a little, and it would almost be comical if Kurt's breath wasn't stuck in his throat in anticipation. "You have no idea," Blaine says, familiar. 

Kurt just grins at him, once, quick, laying his head back as he feels Blaine's weight roll off the bed, returning faster than Kurt expects. 

Blaine's hands return to his thighs after a moment, though Kurt kept his legs open, the cool air on the slick skin of his ass sparking little bits of pleasure through his nerves while Blaine had leaned away.

Kurt is momentarily disappointed when Blaine doesn't duck back down between his legs, though the press of a slick finger against his entrance makes up for the barely-there disappointment as quickly as it comes.

This, Kurt is familiar with; rolling back on his own fingers in bed, leaning over to bite the heavy thread-count cotton of his pillowcase to not make any noise, slicking himself up in the shower, arm bent back with his cheek pressed against the cool tile. This, he knows, except -- Blaine twists one finger in, easy, curling up and moving slowly, too slow, and it's completely different. It feels like  _more_ , though more of what Kurt isn't sure. More sensation, something, and Kurt presses down when Blaine adds a second finger, almost a little too fast, enough that Kurt feels the stretch in a really, really good sort of way that he never really feels with himself. 

"Do you do this?" Blaine asks, over the sound of Kurt's breathing, a little like panting to his own ears. 

"Yes," Kurt grits out, managing not to groan, digging his heels into the mattress for a little more leverage to roll his hips down. He looks down at Blaine instead of keeping his head back; he hadn't been doing it intentionally, not really, but the sight of Blaine's face, the nearly open look of want there makes him realize he wouldn't last watching Blaine the whole time, not with everything -- the pressure of Blaine's hand just idly splayed out against his hips, his fingers twisting deep inside, pressing up just right. Not with that and the look on Blaine's face. 

Kurt groans, spreading his legs out wider when Blaine spreads his fingers out, rolling them to press in a third, slicker with more added lube. "Just --" Kurt starts, but Blaine makes a shushing sound, rolling his wrist down hard, effectively cutting off any words that may have wanted to make it out of the jumble in Kurt's brain, anyway. 

"Do you do this in the shower?" Blaine asks, the words dry and gritty out of his mouth. "Or in bed? I -- I thought about you doing this for me, at some point, opening yourself up, and if you did it at home, and if you thought of me, and then I would see you after in the hallway and wonder what you would think if you knew."

If Blaine expects some sort of coherent response, Kurt doesn't give one. He manages a drawn out moan, nearly accidentally on a barely-managed exhale of breath. "Now," Kurt says, after that, managing at least some semblance of the word. 

Kurt leans up when Blaine rolls to the side to grab for a condom somewhere in the sheets. He takes the tube of lube Blaine was using from against his thigh, slicking up his own hand while Blaine turns back towards him, reaching down before Blaine can say anything to palm his dick, barely getting his hand curled around before Blaine's hips push forward fast and a little urgently, a low, guttural groan coming out from between his parted lips. 

Blaine grabs at Kurt's wrist to still his hand before he can get more than few strokes in, enjoying the the arch of Blaine's back into his fist, the way his eyelashes fan out against his cheekbones with the way he has his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

Kurt digs his heels further down into the mattress as Blaine gets settled, wanting to just wrap them around his back and dig in, press him in all the way, but Blaine goes slow; pressing instead and taking his time, the stretch a slow tease of pressure and weight and pull that Kurt's never gotten from his own fingers, has never been able to think about before, and --

Blaine groans deep at the same time Kurt does when he finally sets in all the way, as deep as he can get in this position, and Kurt's brain tires to make some sort of cheeky joke about harmonizing and auditioning for a duet for the Warblers like this but his thoughts short-circuit before the words get anywhere near his vocal chords, instead leaving him on a soundless gasp as Blaine pulls back and presses forward, hard. 

"Oh," Kurt says, though he's not sure the word makes it out, only that his mouth forms the right shape, because Blaine pulls back and presses in again, faster than he probably means to because he groans and leans his neck down, shoulders bowed, his hands pressing into the mattress by Kurt's ribs, scrabbling at the twisted sheets. 

Kurt reaches down almost blindly, unable to look at anything but Blaine leaning over him, and grabs at Blaine's hands, curling his own fingers over the tops of Blaine's, twisting with the sheet until their fingers are curled together, the sheet bunched in-between them. 

Blaine finds a rhythm after a moment, and Kurt finds the counter-rhythm, pressing up against Blaine's thrusts as he pulls back, and rocking steadily with him. It doesn't last for long, though, Kurt untwisting one of his hands from Blaine's and reaching up to press at Blaine's lower back, bending himself upward when Blaine uses his free hand to get between them, curling it around Kurt's dick, a little sticky and hard between them. 

Kurt can feel himself clenching around Blaine, both of them groaning, Blaine's hand speeding up without much thought for anything but pressure and sloppy, slick speed. Blaine looses his rhythm right after, thrusting in erratic and hard and amazing, Kurt rolling his hips in near-circles each time, gasping out breath without sound, words and moans stuck in his chest and throat, Blaine looking right down at him with blown pupils and an open-mouthed, panting grin, looking wrecked and -- gorgeous. 

Kurt comes before Blaine, over sensitive and snapping his hips up, stilling even as Blaine's hand and hips keep moving, Kurt's chest rising and falling rapidly with too many breaths at once, moaning out loud at the sight of Blaine coming, the sound that rolls deep out of his throat. 

Blaine gradually slides out of him, though Kurt looses track of time, just focuses on Blaine's slowing breaths until Kurt's inhales match Blaine's exactly, Blaine slipping down to lay pressed up all along Kurt's side, too-warm but completely welcome. 

"That --" Kurt starts, though he has no idea how to finish. 

"Yeah," Blaine agrees, easily, rolling away to tie up the condom and then stretching back against Kurt's side, pulling him against his chest with an arm thrown over Kurt's hips. 

"Months," Blaine says, after a few minutes, "We possibly could have been doing that for  _months_."

Better late than never, Kurt wants to say, except Blaine rolls over top of him with more energy than Kurt feels like he will have for days, and kisses him, pulling back far too quickly. 

"You got sunburned," Blaine says, swiping a thumb along Kurt's cheek. "I told you not to lay out so long."

"No," Kurt says, barely managing not to yawn, "You told me to get into the pool, and look what happened after I left the safety of the very finest plastic chaise lounge in all of Ohio."

Blaine makes a face at him and rolls back over, though he pulls Kurt right back up against his chest, anyway. "Hey, it didn't turn out so bad after a while," he says, though it's almost a little hesitantly, like he's unsure if he's right. 

Kurt doesn't roll his eyes. Instead, he rolls over, taking Blaine's hand off his hip and holding it between them. "It didn't," he agrees. 

Blaine's nose scrunches up a little with his answering smile, and for the third time in a day, Kurt falls back asleep, tired down to his bones but this time with Blaine right next to him, pressed together hip to hip.

  
  
  



End file.
